


just as slow as i can

by rainingroses05



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Episode 3x03, F/M, Season 3, basically just matt and julie's walk home after the game, i can't really tell if this is happy or sad so i guess it's both, i love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23748706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingroses05/pseuds/rainingroses05
Summary: "Matt doesn’t want to talk about the game. So, they don’t."Matt and Julie after the Arnett Mead game in 3x03.
Relationships: Matt Saracen/Julie Taylor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	just as slow as i can

**Author's Note:**

> title from "gonna hurry (as slow as i can)" by dolly parton

Matt doesn’t want to talk about the game. So, they don’t. 

They don’t talk at all, at first, the only sound their shoes on the sidewalk, and Julie knows she’s the one who’s supposed to say something but she can’t. The air is hot and sticky, and her palms are sweating, and the words are sort of stuck in her throat. She looks over at Matt, hunched shoulders, dragging feet, and can’t shake the feeling that she’s letting him down, that she has been for a while now. There’s one thing she can do for him, though, and that’s be here, be a distraction, be  _ anything but football. _

“So,” she says, clutching the strap of her purse and swinging it back and forth at her hip, “Employee of the Month again? Really?”

“Yep,” Matt says, popping the p, and Julie has to remind herself not to stare too hard at his lips.

“What, no one else who works there is deserving of the honor?”

“Nah, I’m the best ice cream scooper by far. Thinking of going pro, actually.”

They haven’t exactly been looking at each other, so Julie just sort of smiles down at the ground, and when she glances over she sees that Matt is doing the same, smiling at the sidewalk, just barely. It’s like deja vu, this soft, tentative feeling, like they’re fifteen again and blushing at each other in the hallways, that same careful space between them, just a breath away from touching. But, then, it’s crazy what a year can do. 

They’re walking under a street light now, bright white washing over their faces, and Matt looks up and squints, catching her eye for a moment before his gaze plunges back to the ground. “All you really get,” he says, sort of flat and distracted, “is your picture stuck up on this little whiteboard where they write your name in these kinda fancy letters.” He traces his name out in the air with his finger, almost absentmindedly. 

Julie thinks about doing homework at his house after school, how she’d write both their names down on their papers- hers first, long, looping letters, then his, crossing the t’s with one swift line- and he’d lie back on the bed and tell her about practice, or work, or school, or something funny his grandma said at the grocery store. They always had a lot to talk about back then. There’s a lot to say now, too, but she’s not sure how. 

Julie’s no stranger to guilt. Turns out it’s something you feel a lot when you’re sixteen and all your words come out before you realize you don’t really mean them. 

It was all so childish, looking back. Matt seems older, somehow, and Julie feels a sharp pang of fear that he’s gone and grown up without her. 

(She’d take it back if she could. It was never worth it- for an older boy, a change, a misguided sense of rebellion). 

She tilts her head back to look up at the lit-up sign outside Alamo Freeze, flickering neon against the dark sky. “Here we are,” she says, “your favorite place,” and it sounds sort of lame out loud. She knocks her shoulder against his, anyway, and there’s something soft and familiar in the touch.

“Shut up,” he says, smiling, and reaches out to shove her lightly, wobbling on the curb. 

Her heart beats so fast in her chest that it sort of hurts, but she can’t stop smiling, either. His hand brushes hers as he pulls his arm back, and there are butterflies in her stomach, like falling in love all over again- or maybe she never stopped, loving him. Julie’s seen enough movies to know there’s something special about first love, and she believes it, for real, now. Then, all of a sudden, they’re back to not touching, the sliver of sidewalk a smaller but still defined space, and she didn’t know she could miss him like this when he’s standing right next to her. 

They’re getting close to her house now, and it’s plenty warm out but Matt stops to drape his jacket around her shoulders as soon as the wind picks up just the slightest bit. Julie mumbles a thank you, clutches at the sleeves and wonders how she ever could’ve let this boy go-  _ Matt _ , who kisses her slow like she’s something sweet, something to savor, who wraps her in his jacket when she’s cold, who’s safe and warm and everything  _ good _ about this little town.

They both walk a little slower when they reach her street, dawdling, measured steps, finding every excuse to touch- a playful shove, laughing, her hand on his arm. It’s comfortable, easy, for a moment, a secret language with an old friend.

He walks her right up to the front door and just stands there in front of her for a moment, hands gripping the strap of his football bag. She lets her gaze wander over his features, and there’s a sense of urgency about the whole thing, taking all of him in before he’s gone. He looks tired again, his mouth set in a tight line, and all she wants to do is kiss the shadows off his face, but she settles for taking off his jacket and wrapping it tight around his shoulders, letting her hands linger there.

“It’s not all on you, you know?” she whispers, fingertips pressing into soft fabric. “Everything, all the time, it’s-”

“I don’t want to talk about the game, Julie.” He sighs, and she can feel his shoulders rise and fall under her touch, heavy.

“I’m not talking about the game.”

There’s a beat of quiet, and then a light flicks on in her kitchen and she takes a step back, hands dropping to her sides. “Well,” she says, and it sits there for a moment, in the air between them.

“Goodnight, Julie,” he says, smiling soft and sweet, and Julie feels an ache in her chest she can only describe as longing.

“Night,” she echoes, and he turns to go, stopping at the end of the driveway to glance back at her and wave. And all she can do is watch him walk away and hope he comes back again.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is @tyraacollette if u wanna come talk to me about fnl i'll love u forever <3


End file.
